


Apollo's Lyre: Sunday in the Park Insert

by paperandsong



Series: Leroux Inserts [3]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Dark Erik, F/M, Gothic, Hallucinations, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperandsong/pseuds/paperandsong
Summary: Christine and Raoul continue their conversation on the rooftop of the Opera house. Christine tells Raoul about the time Erik took her to the park one twisted sunny Sunday afternoon.All text in italics is Leroux, a combination of the de Mattos and Ribière translations. Canon-insert, canon compliant.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Series: Leroux Inserts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110866
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	Apollo's Lyre: Sunday in the Park Insert

“ _He was my faithful slave and paid me endless little attentions. Gradually, I gave him such confidence that he ventured to take me walking on the banks of Lake Avernus and row me in the boat on its leaden waters -_ ”  
Raoul snickered. “Lake Avernus? He really does fancy himself Hades, doesn’t he?”  
“You keep interrupting me,” she complained. “You do not know anything about him. It is not your story to tell.”   
“So he took you on little boat trips in the sewer.”  
“It is not a sewer, Raoul. It is a cistern for groundwater, built to protect the foundation.”  
“Is that what he told you? Well then, it must be true. Did he take you anywhere else?”  
“I was getting to it. But really you must stop interrupting or I shall not speak another word.”  
Raoul acquiesced, apologetically lowering his head.   
“There was one very strange day when he took me outside during the daylight.   
‘Come,’ he said, ‘It is Sunday. I shall take you for a picnic in the park.’   
He was very excited. He made me change into a new dress he had purchased for me. It was white, with layers and layers of lace. It was not at all appropriate for winter and I feared I might be cold.   
‘I do not have a coat,’ I worried, for I had not been wearing a coat the night he took me from my dressing room. He produced the loveliest blue wool coat and covered me with it. He prepared a basket of food and wine. I could say he seemed almost happy.   
But it was all so very strange. I expected that, as we would be out in public, he might have put on a mask. But he did not. Perhaps we were going at nighttime and no one would see us, I thought. I could only guess. Though he made a great show of winding my watch, I suspected that he never set it at the correct time and I never knew if it was day or night. I depended on him to tell me when to go to sleep and when to wake up.   
He helped me into the little boat and when he had rowed us out onto the water a little ways, he stopped and placed a scarf over my eyes. The scarf was damp and it came down over my nose as well. I believe now that he had doused the material with one of his potions from Ma-ma-mazen-’”  
A hiss shot out from the dark, “Mazenderan!”   
“Yes, one of his Mazenderani scents, for after that moment my mind was quite foggy.   
‘But why the blindfold?’ I asked. ‘Where are we going?’  
‘It is a surprise. You will see.’  
‘I do not like your surprises, Erik.’  
We floated over the water for a long time, longer than when he had first brought me to his home. When we had arrived wherever it was he wanted to go, he helped me step out of the little boat, but still, he did not remove the blindfold. He pulled me along by the hand. As I could see nothing, I grasped him tightly, cold and damp and bony though he was. We walked and walked in what felt like circles. I could feel that we were still underground, but I expected that at any moment I would feel the fresh and cold winter air upon my face. We passed through several doorways and finally, he opened one last door. But the air that hit my face was not fresh or cold. It was hot, like that of an oven.   
‘Come, Christine,' he said, still guiding me by the hand. We walked outside and he left my side for a moment. I could hear him rustling about, setting down the basket and spreading out the blanket. Then he came quite close to my face. So close I could smell him. He helped me out of my coat and pulled the blindfold away. My eyes were then truly blinded by the dazzling light of the sun. It was a lovely day. When finally my eyes adjusted, they revealed that we stood in the most marvellous forest. There were endless trees and bright sunlight shined through the leaves. I approached the tree before us. It was so beautiful, so lush and green. Almost tropical. I realized how much I had longed for the outside world. I reached out to touch a leaf on the tree. But I immediately recoiled in pain.   
‘It pricked me!’ I cried. In fact, the leaf had drawn blood at the tip of my finger and was now dripping all over my dress.  
‘My poor child!’ he laughed. ‘I meant to tell you that the trees in my forest bite!'’’  
Despite his promise, Raoul could not help but to interrupt.   
“What did he mean by that? In what park in Paris are there trees that bite?”  
“What can I say? The edge of the leaf was as sharp as a knife. Hush now, let me continue. He reached out to me, as if he wanted me to show him my injury, but I refused to give him my hand. This irritated him greatly so that he grasped me by the wrist and forced me to sit down upon the blanket. I looked all around in wonder. For though it was dense with trees, it did not feel like a forest at all. The air did not stir through those leaves. Even in my cloudy state of mind, I could sense this was a forest like no other.   
I heard a bird sing and he grew very excited to tell me what kind it was. I heard the call of another and he had me guess the species. It seemed as though he could command the birds and make them sing at will. I could hear them flit all around the tree. They came and went, rustling the leaves behind them. He encouraged me to choose the bird I wished to hear next.   
‘A lark? A starling? A nightingale?’ He gave me a gruesome grin.   
I realized he was employing that trick of his voice again. All the joy rushed out of me. Under different circumstances it might have been charming, that he could mimic the song of all the birds of the forest. But then, under his captivity, it was quite distressing. Where were all the real birds, I wondered.   
When he saw that I had tired of his little game, he began to pull out the food he had prepared for our picnic. He poured me a glass of wine and encouraged me to take it. I took miserly sips, for he seemed so eager to watch me enjoy it I feared he meant to poison me further. And he always gave me such sweet wine, much sweeter than I prefer.   
He sat too close to me. It seemed that at every moment he crept closer. As I was pecking at a piece of chicken, he reached out and gently pushed my face to the side.   
‘Look, Christine,’ he said. ‘Look at all those happy couples.’  
And I saw that we were not alone. No, all around us sat six other couples picnicking.   
‘Look at them all. Look how happy they are. All those lovely ladies sitting so happily with their ugly beaux.’   
I looked all around me and saw that, indeed, each woman was lovely and each man was as ugly as Erik. And not one of them wore a mask!  
‘Do you think we could learn to be as happy as they, Christine?’  
It was the first time I had seen another person since he had taken me captive. My inclination was to scream and implore them for help. But I refrained from making a sound.  
‘Where are we, Erik?’  
‘We are in the park. It is Sunday. Is it not the most pleasant thing to be in the park on a warm Sunday afternoon?’  
He again gave me that look of a dog wishing to please its master. He wanted so much for me to be happy, and because he was so thirsty for it, I could not sincerely give it to him. His own happiness was my burden, for I never wished to see him angry again. I could not be happy as he demanded of me, but I could pretend for him. I had days before decided not to antagonize him further. No more insults. No more tears. I would be his happy friend if that would keep him calm.   
‘It is the most pleasant thing, Erik.’  
He sighed contentedly. I realized how hot it had become. It did not feel like winter at all. Under the Mazenderani scent and the wine and the heat I began to swoon. The chicken fell from my hand.   
‘Oh, Christine!’ he whispered. ‘Are you unwell?’  
‘I am too hot.’  
He placed his hand on my forehead, the way a parent might check a child’s temperature. His cold, sepulchral fingers cupped my cheeks and his thumbs came to rest on the bridge of my nose. For the first time, their chill was welcome.  
‘Has my forest given you a fever, Christine?’  
‘I believe it has. I feel so queer.’  
‘Perhaps you would feel better if your stays were loosened.’  
‘But the others,’ I protested. ‘They will see.’  
He took off his own jacket and moved behind me to work at the buttons of my dress.  
‘Look, Christine. All the happy couples are suffering in this infernal heat. No one will mind if you make yourself more comfortable. But isn’t it lovely, all of this sunlight in winter?’  
‘So lovely,’ I sighed. He pulled the sleeves of my frock from my arms as if undressing a doll. He gently gathered the material at my waist, so that only my chemise shielded my breasts from his gaze. I crossed my arms in shame. But I did feel cooler.”  
“I could kill him!” Raoul shouted.  
“He did not touch me, Raoul. He thought only of my comfort, I assure you. He was very concerned I might faint. When I had eaten a bit more and seemed to him to be recovered enough, he suggested we play a game.   
‘I shall hide and you shall seek me out.’  
‘No, Erik. I do not like your games,’ I said.  
‘And why not?’ he asked, his repulsive smile falling.   
Not wishing to spark his rage, I sought to flatter him.  
‘Because you always win.’   
To my relief, his rotten mouth twisted upwards.  
‘You will win this game, my dear. And when you do, the prize shall be me!’  
He helped me to my feet. He even helped to pull my frock down to the floor so that I stood only in my thin chemise. And still it was so hot! I was very faint and unsteady on my feet. He held my bare shoulders in his cold palms and explained his rules. I looked at my feet so as not to stare too deeply into the holes of his nose.  
‘You will close your eyes and I will go and hide somewhere in the forest. You must count to ten and then you must come and find me.’  
‘Yes, Erik.’  
‘Now, close your eyes.’   
I did as he said. I covered my eyes with my hands and counted out loud. When I counted to ten, I uncovered my eyes and he was gone. I saw that all the men had gone, leaving only the women standing alone in the forest. I saw my chance to finally escape.  
‘Help!’ I cried out to them. I turned to each of them in turn and begged them. ‘Oh, please help me!’   
I was startled at the quality of my voice. Instead of spreading out among the trees, my plea bounced back at me, as if deflected by an invisible barrier all around. And the women, why, they just stared back at me with an expression as desperate as my heart.   
But I was determined. Even if they would not help me, I could escape into the forest and perhaps there I could find a little hunter’s cottage and the hunter could help me, could hide me, could pry me from the clutches of this madman!  
So I began to run. I ran with all the force within me. I wanted to live! 

I bolted for my escape. But in the very same instant, my head was hit by something cold and hard and sharp. As if I had run headfirst into a solid wall.There was an awful crack and I imagined it was my very skull splitting into a thousand pieces. Red spilled over my eyes and I fell backwards. I heard the sound of his laughter behind me. I shall never forget it. He was absolutely cackling.   
I knew then that he was but a child. Learnèd in all the human arts, lacking any instruction in humanity. A prodigy all grown up, so delighted with his own cleverness that he could not imagine a world outside of his own mind. And I was completely at his undeveloped sense of mercy. Despite the heat, I suddenly felt very cold.   
I was staring up at the too bright sun. I felt his footsteps beside me but I could not see him until he hung his monstrous face over mine. At once the cackling ceased.   
‘Oh no, Christine! My love, what have I done?’ he cried with sincere concern, kneeling down beside me.  
I pressed my eyes shut so that I did not have to look at his face as he leaned over me and lifted me from the ground. And I do not remember very much that happened after that. I remember the feel of his thin arms wrapping around me as he cradled me and carried me out of the forest. But I do not remember the boat ride back to his house by the lake. I awoke in my bed. Or rather, the bed that he had given me in that fake little room.  
I remember the horrible sound of his sobs as he wept over me and I continued to feign sleep. His contrition was so sincere when he thought I was not lucid enough to remember it! Later, when I awoke to find my forehead bruised and lacerated and bandaged, he refused to answer for it. But when he thought I was sleeping, he came by my side and changed the dressing on the wound and wept and sang to me. He sang so sweetly to me. He knelt at my bedside and whispered such sweet and sorrowful words of devotion.”  
“Oh, Christine,” Raoul moaned. “I remember seeing that bruise on your forehead when you revealed your face to me at the masked ball. And I was too much of a coward to ask you where it had come from.” Raoul raised his hand to his heart, tearing at the fabric of his shirt in anguish. “Oh, I should like to murder him! He must die for what he has done. I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!”  
And the shadow repeated,  
“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”  
“No, Raoul. You shall not touch him!”  
“But how can you say that when he has treated you so?”  
She shook her head sadly.  
“I do not believe that his game was meant to harm me. He seemed deeply disturbed by his own actions. And yet, he could not find a way to atone for them. No one had ever taught him how. All he knew was to grovel and crawl about my feet. But when he thought I was sleeping, he dared to reach out and take my hand and press it to his cadaverous face. To wet it with his tears. And then I could feel it: the weight of his contrition. And it bound me to him more tightly than his words of love.”  
“Even so, it sounds as though you do love him,” Raoul scowled.  
She covered her face with her little hands and cried out,  
“Oh Raoul! That is why you must take me away from here!”  
A whisper on the sweet evening zephyr found itself inside her ear, and hers alone. It said,   
“Remember, Christine, that I will never, never leave you.”  
“What came next, Christine?” Raoul asked with a grim countenance. “How did you finally escape him?”  
She sighed and steadied herself. She would finish the story she had started.   
‘ _At night, toward the end of my captivity he let me out through the gates that closed the underground passages in the Rue Scribe. Here a carriage awaited us and took us to the lonely Bois…_ ’”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading - let me know what you thought!


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